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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28510959">Nothing Ventured</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vexutopia/pseuds/vexutopia'>vexutopia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kid Spencer [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Criminal Minds Setting, Alternative Universe - FBI, Baby!Spencer, Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Hurt Spencer, Hurt Spencer Reid, Original Male Characters - Freeform, Protective Aaron Hotchner, Protective Derek Morgan, Spencer - Freeform, Spencer Reid is a Rossi, dad!Rossi, kid!spencer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:40:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,754</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28510959</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vexutopia/pseuds/vexutopia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After the death of Diana Reid, Rossi is suddenly stuck with a child labeled his godson by a professor he fell in love with 12 years ago.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Kid Spencer [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>187</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is really dark and really sad, and in future chapters, it will mention Spencer's "relationships" with older men. So if this is triggering to you/not your style, please be careful! I don't want to upset anyone.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Cases in Vegas always prompted his longing for Diana, and the killer’s comfort zone was in her little neighborhood. Rossi was distracted. Diana fit the profile, to his knowledge. A successful woman living in a quiet neighborhood. Rossi had loved Diana. Long ago, nearly 12 years, he had loved her, not the way he loved Carolyn, but still, the love had been there. He was there during the birth of her son, and a year after, and his love for the little boy had him labeled the child’s godfather. William Reid had been the man to ask him to leave, and Rossi had gone without a fight. It seemed like so long ago, but there were nights he lay awake thinking of her. Thinking of her son. On the plane, he was quiet, not that that wasn’t unusual, but Hotch had glanced his way a few times as if longing to ask if something was bothering him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The unsub seems angered by the prospect of successful women.” JJ noted as she looked at the dismembered women in the photos, “It’s almost as if he feels these women don’t deserve their success.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Prentiss shook her head wearily, “So, we’re bound to be looking for a person who holds some sort of animosity towards successful women, right. Amber Payne had been a lawyer for ten years and was after District Attorney. Lora Needleman had opened twenty-three homeless shelters across the country and devoted her life to helping others. The accomplishments of these women are different, but they’ve all had some sort of success.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s odd for me is the fact that he killed Gertrude Micheals. She’d been retired for well over fifteen years.” Morgan paged through her file, “Says here she wrote seventeen horror novels turned best sellers but retired from book writing after her son got paralyzed in a dirt bike accident.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It can’t be a judgment of their morals.” Rossi spoke up, and all eyes turned to him, “According to local newspaper articles, these were good women. They were kind and well-loved in their community.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch was about to speak again, but his phone alerted him. He picked up the phone and held it to his ear, speaking once, before he quieted. His face, already painlessly neutral, became even harder. JJ sighed, knowing exactly what the subtle change meant. Rossi held his breath, praying that the target had not been his dear Diana. Hotch spoke once more, then again, and finally, he hung up the phone and slipped the device easily back into his pocket.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A new body was discovered. A Diana Reid—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Rossi sat up, all but yelling as he looked to Hotchner anxiously, “Diana </span>
  <em>
    <span>Reid</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You recognize the name?” Morgan asked,</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m sure I knew her. She and I were good friends when she was a professor.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch looked grim, “Are you alright to work on the case?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won’t let you send me home,” Rossi leaned back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch just nodded, “We’ll be in Vegas soon. Rossi? Do you think you’ll be able to talk to her son?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t seen him since he was an infant,” Rossi’s tone was dripping with guilt, “I’ll try my best.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The plane landed after just half an hour more. Rossi’s legs felt like jello as he walked towards the office Diana’s son was kept in. Apparently, the child had been coming home from the library when he found his mother. He had, according to his recollection, caught a glimpse of the killer, but not enough for a decent sketch. All they knew as of now was that the murderer was maybe six feet tall. But to a child, any height above their looked large. Rossi approached the door, twisted the knob, and pushed it open. A pair of large, brown eyes— the brownest eyes Rossi had ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span>— turned to look at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Are you another officer?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” Rossi shook his head, and frowned at the boy’s bruised appearance, “I’m an FBI agent. My name is David Rossi.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said again, “My mother read your books. She kept them on the shelf, so they were important to her.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I see.” Rossi walked across the room and sat, and the child rose from the couch and moved to the wall, “I knew your mother well.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you?” The child scoffed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You seem to be taking her death very well.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everyone dies, why cry about it?” There was a hitch in his voice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your name is Spencer, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhm.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rossi glanced at the untouched fast food bag sat on the table, “The officers tell me you haven’t eaten.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer shrugged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They told me you called the police.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another shrug.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why did you wait two days, Spencer?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t</span>
  <em>
    <span> home</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re twelve. Where could you have gone?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why is it any business of yours?” Spencer asked with a pointed gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m interested.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was getting food.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Getting food? What, were you hunting?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. I don’t even have a license. You need one to hunt in Nevada.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, what were you doing out for two days?” Rossi asked, “What food takes two-days to get?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“None of your business!” Spencer hollered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rossi released a small breath. He wasn’t sure why there was a hope in him that Spencer remembered him. It was concerning, but something that troubled Rossi, even more, was the fact that Spencer seemed to be keeping such a distance from him. Rossi leaned back and folded his legs, trying to look comfortable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s my job to care about cases like this. Kids like you. Why were you away for two days, Spencer?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can’t you throw me in some boys’ home and forget about me? Isn’t that what you guys do best?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that what you want, Spencer?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You and I both know it doesn’t matter.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rossi sighed, “We’ve been trying to contact your father. He hasn’t been answering our calls.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He won’t,” Spencer sniffed, “He doesn’t want me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rossi stood, and Spencer crossed the room quickly, so his back was pushed against another wall. The agent stopped to stare at him, then squinted and spoke softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you hurt, Spencer?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” He answered too quickly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you’re hurt, you might need to go to a hospital. You look pale, and you don’t want to be near me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m always pale, and I don’t even trust you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door came open, and Spencer frowned and hurried away from it. He was in the corner now, hands behind his back as he stared at whoever came in. JJ felt it was best for him, maybe, to be in the presence of someone who might not remind him of the man who killed his mother. JJ was holding a small bag from some vegan place because the officers finally got around to assuming Spencer and his mother were wealthy and could afford places with more nuance than a fast-food restaurant. Spencer just turned away and refused to look at her, even as his stomach growled at the new smells. It smelled like the vegan garlic pasta his Aunt Ethel made before she died. She had died two months before his mother after she refused treatment for pancreatic cancer. Spencer remembered being so angry with her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Spencer. I’m JJ.” She took out one of the take-out boxes, “You must be hungry, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” Spencer whispered, “Leave me alone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I decided to go to my favorite place in Vegas.” JJ ignored his request, “I’d love to share with you. Do you like vegan food?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” he eyed Rossi, “Both of you leave me alone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spencer,” Rossi stood, “There’s something I need to tell you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” He asked, his gaze cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I knew Diana. I knew her well. And I knew you too,” Rossi moved forward, but there was nothing but the wall behind Spencer now, “I knew you when you were an infant. I’m your godfather, kid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Liar!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not,” Rossi took another step forward, and JJ watched the rapid rise and fall of Spencer’s chest, “I wouldn’t lie.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get away from me!” Spencer suddenly brought hands up to his hair, “You liar! Please, please leave me alone!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As much as they did not want to, JJ and Rossi left the room. Hotch turned to them as they entered the opposing room they’d been provided. Prentiss and Morgan were putting together the crime board, and Hotch ran a red marker across a map. When the eyes of their superior landed on them, JJ tasted guilt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We couldn’t get any information out of him,” Rossi sighed, “I learned that he was away for two days getting food. That’s why it took so long for him to call the police.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Morgan turned to look, “What food takes two days to get? Did he leave Nevada?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t ask,” Rossi plopped down in a seat, “But I did tell him that I knew Diana. T-That I was his godfather.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re his </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Prentiss looked bewildered, “Does he remember you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t seen Diana in over twelve years,” Rossi glanced at Hotch, “It’s not like there’s any relationship established between me and Spencer.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Rossi,” JJ sighed, “I think the trauma of seeing his mother dead has put him into shock. Rather than handle the emotional trauma upfront, his mind is blocking out all of the emotions he doesn’t want to feel. Talking about his mother may trigger emotions and therefore information.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rossi frowned, “You want me to talk with him about his mother?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“More specifically your relationship </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>her,” Prentiss added, and JJ nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll give it time.” Hotch said, before turning to JJ, “I want you and Morgan to go see if we have any new information from Diana’s autopsy. Prentiss and I will ask around about the victims within the comfort zone. Rossi—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get the kid to eat?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please.” Hotch nodded. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lou Jenkins did not know much about Spencer Reid and his family, but he did know that the child went away for days on end, and returned to his home in the same clothes he left in. He knew William had left, and he had not seen Diana very much since he packed up his things and took the car to Summerlin. Lou had lost his son a while back in a case that had since gone cold. He and his wife tried to help Spencer, it’s not like they absolutely forgot about the boy and his mother, but Spencer pushed everyone away, and his mother hardly ever answered the door with a sound mind.</p><p> </p><p>When Prentiss and Hotch arrived at the household, they were let in by Lou, who had the key to the home but never used it. Everyone was surprised at the state of the home. It was in disarray, with books scattered here and there, trash, clothes, paper, and binders— Prentiss had to step over things to get into the home.</p><p> </p><p>“When did William Reid leave?” Prentiss asked, turning to look at Lou.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s been a few years.” Lou slipped his hands into his front pockets, “About two, I think?”</p><p> </p><p>“Two?” Hotch repeated, moving through the foyer, “Has the family’s home always been in this state?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no. Diana was so clean,” Lou awkwardly touched the nape of his neck, “Me and my son had been over a few times. Before Riley died, him and Spencer used to be friends.”</p><p> </p><p>Hotch said nothing. He moved further into the home. He reached a door once going up the stairs, and he opened it up. Inside was a neat room, obviously Spencer’s. There were books stacked on the floor as well as on the bookshelf. The room seemed normal enough. He heard Prentiss and Lou faintly talking about Diana from downstairs. He reached Diana’s room after passing a bathroom. The door was already open. He immediately noticed the scratches on the back of the door, the splintered wood— as if someone had kicked it— and the writing on the walls. Diana’s room looked a wreck, much as it did downstairs. That certainly cleared any suspicions of there being a struggle. Perhaps Spencer could point out anything that wasn’t as it had been before, but Hotch doubted the child would want to be in the home. As he walked back downstairs, he heard a tightness in Prentiss’ voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Sick? How long had Diana been sick?”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>“William told me he left because of Diana’s mental health. He believed that she was ill. She quit her job, she stopped calling her students, she didn’t keep the house clean.” Lou shrugged, “And, not to incriminate her, but Will would come home to find her <em>wailing</em> on Spencer.”</p><p> </p><p>“You knew all of this and you never thought to contact the authorities?” Prentiss questioned.</p><p> </p><p>Lou sighed as if he were tired of the interrogation. Hotch’s presence seemed to make him all the tenser. He respected Diana, respected the Reid family, so he did not like painting them in a bad light. </p><p> </p><p>“It was none of my business.”</p><p> </p><p>“None of your business?” Hotch repeated, “A child was being abused and it was none of your business?”</p><p> </p><p>“Look.” Lou put his hands up, “I’ve got nothing to do with this, alright? I need to go.”</p><p> </p><p>Hotch and Prentiss exchanged a glance as Lou hurried down the stairs and to his own home. The two agents were in silence for a moment, before Prentiss broke it.</p><p> </p><p>“That explains his appearance. We haven’t gotten another body since Diana. The unsub is breaking his pattern. Do you think she was the target?”</p><p> </p><p>Hotch’s expression was unchanging, “We need to find William Reid.”</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>The coroner’s office in Vegas was always cold, especially in smaller counties. JJ pulled at the sleeves of her sweater as she looked at Diana’s body. She was listening to the coroner and nodding along, as was Morgan. Diana looked faintly like Spencer, only disfigured, as brutal as that sounded. </p><p> </p><p>“These lacerations on her wrists show obvious signs of a struggle,” the coroner picked Diana’s arm up and gestured the scratches, “The M.O is the same for every victim, but there is something that’s concerning.”</p><p> </p><p>“Which is?” Morgan asked.</p><p> </p><p>The coroner pulled at one of Diana’s shoulders, showing the scratch marks on her skin.</p><p> </p><p>“These are old. Made by a much smaller person,” Her eyes flickered between them, “A child.”</p><p> </p><p>“A child?” JJ frowned, “Her son?”</p><p> </p><p>“Most likely.” She nodded, “But it’s not like her son just walked up to her and scratched her. Based on the angle of these scratches, she was likely towering over him, and he was doing what he could to get her off of him.”</p><p> </p><p>JJ and Morgan exchanged a glance. When they left, JJ rolled up her sleeves while Morgan squinted at the sun. They were quiet as they got into the car. Just as they did, Morgan’s phone buzzed with a text from Prentiss, who had said a neighbor talked about there being a chance that Diana hit Spencer on more than one occasion. It made sense. Based on the coloring of Spencer’s bruises they were old, perhaps older than two days, which was how long he was gone before he found his mother. Arriving at the station felt tense, especially since there had not been any more information revealed, and the officers of the community seemed to be getting antsy. While they were away, Rossi had decided to watch Spencer’s behavior instead of buying more and more food to get him to eat. Hotch wasn’t angry, considering Spencer seemed to want nothing to do with his godfather or anyone else for that matter. </p><p> </p><p>Hotch moved into the room and shut the door behind him. Spencer stood sleepily from the sofa and went to move, but Hotch grabbed a chair and dragged it rather far from the child. When he sat, Spencer did too. He picked at his nails, his hair framing his thin face. He grew uncomfortable with Hotch’s silence.</p><p> </p><p>“What can you tell me about your father, Spencer?”</p><p> </p><p>“He left. What more is there to say?” Spencer asked, crossing his arms, “Don’t tell me he’s coming here. I’d rather actually be put in a home.”</p><p> </p><p>“You told Agent Rossi that your father didn’t want you, but he didn’t leave because he didn’t want you.” Hotch watched his squirming, “He left because your mother hit you.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, she didn’t.” Spencer quickly shook his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Then who did?”</p><p> </p><p>Spencer squeezed his eyes shut, “No one.”</p><p> </p><p>“Spencer.”</p><p> </p><p>“No one hit me.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re all bruised up,” Hotch’s voice was soft, “You’re out of high school, right? That’s impressive. Do the kids at school hit you, Spencer?”</p><p> </p><p>“Nobody hit me,” Spencer’s voice caught, “I’m just clumsy.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve never known a clumsy person to have a black eye. The bruises around your neck are hand-shaped, Spencer.”</p><p> </p><p>Hotch moved his chair the slightest, and Spencer stood and moved to the corner. He pushed his back to the wall and stared at the unit chief with wide eyes. When he looked away, Hotch leaned back and looked sadly at him. He wanted to talk to the child, wanted to know who hit him, wanted to know what had him so jumpy and scared— but he knew Spencer would not want to talk to any of them any time soon. The silence was suffocating.</p><p> </p><p>“I saw him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm?”</p><p> </p><p>“The killer. I saw him,” Spencer’s eyes filled with tears, “I wasn’t gone for two days. H-he just left after two days.”</p><p> </p><p>“Spencer?” Hotch stood and moved forward, while Spencer pushed himself further into the corner, “Did he hurt you?”</p><p> </p><p>“He only hit me.” Spencer stared wearily at him, “But he killed my mom. A-And he made me watch.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you think you could describe him to a sketch artist?”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have to describe him.” Spencer sniffed.</p><p> </p><p>“It would really help,” Hotch took another step forward.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have to because I already know him.” Spencer pushed his hair behind his ears, “He works at my mom’s old university.”</p><p> </p><p>Rossi pushed open the door and looked at Spencer sadly. He moved forward, past Hotch even. Spencer did not move to get away from him, even when Rossi collected the child in his arms. He was tense, inside the hug, and he did not hold Rossi back, but the tightness of the hug seemed to squeeze the sobs from him. That was it. Spencer was bitter or anything, he was just scared. Maybe unsure how to handle it. He had seen his mother die, after all. The other women had older sons, ones who had moved on to live their own lives. This, of course, furthered the fact that Diana and Spencer had been the original target. This professor Spencer mentioned wanted to hurt Diana. Seeing the state of her home might have been the icing on the cake for the professor, and making her son watch her be murdered had been his plan all along. The man Spencer led them to was a man named Heath Brown, an Ethics professor at Diana’s old job. He admitted to his crimes as soon as they walked into his office, and he seemed rather proud of them in the presence of the student he had been studying with. It was an odd conclusion, but a quick one.</p><p> </p><p>Rossi walked into the room Spencer was being held in. The child’s eyes were wet with tears, and his fingernails ached from him picking at them.</p><p> </p><p>“Spencer?”</p><p> </p><p>“Agent Rossi?” Spencer stood, “I thought you’d be gone by now. The officer told me I had to go to Foster Kinship for the night.”</p><p> </p><p>Rossi walked up to him and crouched down, “Spencer, I don’t want to send you to a foster home. Have you ever been on a plane?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re taking me to Quantico?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m your godfather. Your mother has me labeled as your next of kin.”</p><p> </p><p>“What about my father?” Spencer whispered.</p><p> </p><p>“We haven’t been able to contact him.” Rossi put his hands on Spencer’s shoulders, “I’ve got a real big house, Spencer. I’ve got a huge backyard and a sweetheart of a dog.”</p><p> </p><p>Spencer looked away, “What happens when you have to give me back? Why would I spend the night at your house just to come back here and go to a foster home?”</p><p> </p><p>“I won’t let them send you back, Spencer.”</p><p> </p><p>There was hesitation in his expression, but Spencer nodded jerkily. Rossi stood up, groaning at the weight on his knees. What worried him was the fact that Spencer had not eaten, and the clothes JJ and Prentiss were able to get together for him were either too small or too large. JJ handed him his bag and the airstrip, and Spencer thanked her softly before putting it over his shoulder. Morgan and Hotch both seemed tense around Spencer. Rossi had never been one for children, not to mention that he had not seen Spencer in years. The kid did not even remember him. He seemed tense and unsure like he did not really expect Rossi to keep him at all. Rossi tried to get him to eat on the plane, even going as far as to set the food in front of him. It was another take-out place, one close to the airport, which according to Morgan was even <em> worse. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Spencer?” Morgan spoke up.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, sir?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, don’t make me feel old!” Morgan laughed, “What sort of food do you like?”</p><p> </p><p>“I like my mom’s food.” Spencer looked down, “I like ravioli.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, I can make that!” Rossi smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, not the one you cook.” Spencer pressed his fingers together, “The canned one. Chef Boyardee.”</p><p> </p><p>“The canned one?” Rossi paled, and JJ stifled a laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Spencer  pulled at his sleeves, “I didn’t mean—”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, Spencer,” Rossi forced, “You can like what you like.”</p><p> </p><p>Rossi reached out to ruffle his hair, and the boy winced as if to brace himself for a hit. The flinch did not go unnoticed by any of them, but Rossi still set his hand gently on Spencer’s head to mess his hair up. Spencer wanted nothing more than to curl up and die. He touched both hands to the nape of his neck and put his elbows on his knees. Rossi looked at him before he glanced towards Hotch, whose expression was bordering on worry. Spencer was just a kid, a very young kid, no matter how smart or mature he was, he was a child who watched his mother die. He needed space. He needed the people around him to understand his jumpy nature. He didn’t need to be analyzed and judged. Seeing his mother die and moving to Quantico all in the course of one week was too much for him, so Rossi assumed they should slow things down.</p><p> </p><p>“Why don’t we stop at the supermarket?” Rossi spoke softly, “We’ll get you some ravioli.”</p><p> </p><p>Spencer looked at him but didn’t sit up. He turned away without speaking, and Rossi leaned back against his chair and tried not to sigh.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Driving to Rossi’s house felt like entering another world. Spencer sat in the back seat, with his hands folded on his lap and his head laid against the window. Sure, this man was his godfather, but Spencer didn't even know him. He could not understand why he couldn’t just go to a home. He would have liked staying in Vegas more than moving to some random author’s house in DC. Rossi lived in a quiet, rural neighborhood. The gates of his home entered upon arrival, and Spencer sat up, watching as the lights around the home rose as Rossi stepped out of the car.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You ready, kid?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer nodded and made sure to grab the paper bag from the grocery store. It had those cans of ravioli he liked, and he planned to make some as soon as he could. He was used to being hungry, but Professor Brown had not let him eat at all. Spencer remembered the things he had done, before his mother died, in order to get them food. He’d sit by clubs and casinos and beg for change, and more often than not people took pity on the small child, but security guards often chased him away or threatened to call the police. He had only been in the situation for two years, but he and his mother had been struggling long before William walked out on them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There are rooms down here and upstairs,” Rossi unlocked the door, “Take your pick.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll sleep in one down here.” Spencer took off his shoes even though Rossi hadn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The agent looked at his godson for a moment, before he nodded and turned away. He showed him the kitchen and got out a pot. Rossi almost went to reach for a can to read the directions, but Spencer took it upon himself to begin it. Spencer was a small child, he was oddly short and terribly thin for his age, and Rossi wondered if he could factor neglect into the reason Spencer looked like he did. When the ravioli was ready, Spencer found the bowls. He got one for himself and one for Rossi. The two of them sat at the table, and when they began to eat, Rossi tried not to cringe at the odd taste. Spencer seemed to like it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kid? How about next time, you let me cook you something? It’s a jab at my pride, to have these cans in my trashcan.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer didn’t look up. He just shrugged and continued eating. He only took a few spoonfuls before he sat back to stare at Rossi, whose eyes flickered up from the canned food.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kid?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is this whole thing for your ego?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Y’know, imagine the headlines. Playboy author adopts an orphaned child from Vegas.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Playboy?” Rossi scoffed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I saw photos of three different women in wedding dresses. Do you save all of your wedding photos? Is it a game for you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?” Rossi sat back, confused and insulted, “Kid, I’m doing this to help you. My intentions aren’t to make any headlines.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer turned his head quickly away, “You said you knew my mother.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did you sleep with her?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spencer.” Rossi was trying to be gentle, “That isn’t important.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer crossed his arms and slouched in his seat. Rossi felt it would be a while before he fully understood Spencer. He seemed like a complex child, even without the death of his mother playing a factor in his behavior. Rossi knew Spencer had every right to be frustrated, curious, and confused about the situation. He had every right to accuse Rossi of wanting publicity. The situation had to be a lot for him. He was held captive by a killer, his mother had died in front of him, and Rossi was only able to take temporary custody of him because his father had not returned anyone’s calls. There was no doubt in Rossi’s mind that Spencer would be angry for a long time. After all, he wasn’t even sure if he could ever handle being in Spencer’s position.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spencer?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to go to bed now.” Spencer stood, and placed the bowl in the fridge, “Where can I sleep?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s a door down the hall. If you go to the foyer and walk straight down, there’s a room with a green door.” Rossi explained, “It’s got a lock on it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Spencer whispered before he hurried out of the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few moments, Rossi heard the door slam. He immediately pushed away from the bowl of ravioli and buried his face in his hands. He stood, dumping his food into the trash. After cleaning up the small mess in the kitchen, he went to his study. Calling Aaron over FaceTime was always odd to him, but Aaron usually answered quickly. This time, it was after the first ring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rossi frowned, “Don’t you look at me like that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’s it going?” Aaron questioned, folding his hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The kid’s going through a lot. I wanted to make this night good for him.” Rossi pushed his face into his hands, “Even as a godfather, I’m terrible!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“David, it’s your first night,” Aaron leaned both elbows on the table, “He just lost his mother, he’s been through so much— you have to understand that things aren’t going to be easy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We got ravioli from the grocery store, Aaron. What if he never wants to eat my food? What if he never trusts me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“David.” Aaron’s voice was soothing, “He just lost his mother. He was attacked by the same man who killed his mother. He learned that his father didn’t want him. His behavior makes sense. Everything has to be moving way too fast for him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Aaron, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Agent Rossi?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rossi turned to the door. Spencer stood there, one hand against the door frame. His eyes flickered to the computer for a moment, before he turned them away. His fingers squeezed the wood of the frame and he touched his free hand to his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spencer?” Rossi stood, and walked to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s just that I can’t sleep.” Spencer wrapped his arms around his middle, “I was wondering if you had any books I could read?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure, Spencer!” Rossi moved to his bookshelf, then paused and looked back at him, “Anything in particular?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any William Blake? Or John Keats.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rossi laughed a little, “I’ve got some law books. And some of my own. I’ve got Trachtman and Turow.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I supposed your novels aren’t as painful as the others.” Spencer walked up to the shelf and pulled at the spine of one of Rossi’s novels.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As painful?” Rossi asked, and Aaron stifled a laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Spencer shrugged as he placed his hand on the cover, “The tone of your books makes an attempt to be subversive, but it really panders to people who spend weekday afternoons at home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rossi frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer looked up, “N-Not to be a jerk. My mother says sometimes I can be too straightforward. She says some people don’t like it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can be straightforward with me, kid.” Rossi reached out to touch Spencer’s shoulder, and the child stumbled back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Spencer stepped back again, “I know I let you hug me before, but that was in the moment. I feel level headed, and I’d like it if you didn’t touch me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Spencer. You can always be straightforward with me. I don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer nodded. He paused, waved to Hotch, then walked out of the room. Rossi released a breath he didn’t even know he was holding before he plopped down on the chair he’d been sitting in. For a moment, a hand reached into the room and closed the door. Rossi glanced back, then laughed and faced Hotch again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He seems sweet!” Aaron exclaimed, “He’s honest. He got that from you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m his </span>
  <em>
    <span>godfather</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Aaron.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you?” The room stilled, “We all noticed he looks like you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aaron.” Rossi warned, “Stop. That’s wishful thinking. I don’t think I’d be able to handle learning that I have a son I never cared for.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You would have had no idea he was your son.” Aaron reached for a coffee cup slightly out of frame.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Diana suspected.” Rossi leaned forward, “She and I were intimate. Only twice, and we used protection. She went off and married William, and I was there for a bit, but not long enough to make a difference.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why did you leave?” Aaron asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“William asked me to.” Rossi brushed a hand through his hair, “I respected him, and I respected Diana and Spencer, so I did. I left and never looked back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch was silent for a moment. “Would you look back now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want me to entertain the idea that I might be Spencer’s father?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He looks like you, David.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He looks like Diana.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Aaron gave him a look, and Rossi dropped his head slowly to the table.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Somehow" David Rossi is an object of affection. Spencer talks about Lou Jenkins (TW// implied abuse). Dr. Martins. Mary Shelley, for some reason.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Feedback is more than encouraged. Tear me apart! Don't be nice ( pls be nice )!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re very straightforward, Spencer. Has anyone ever told you that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Agent Rossi didn’t say anything about a therapist,” Spencer whispered as he set a card down.</p><p> </p><p>He had always found Uno to be especially childish, but then again, Dr. Martens knew very little of him. Just that he was a 12-year-old boy, and she was used to working with agents well over the age of twenty-five. Spencer didn’t see a ring, and all the photos around her office were of company picnics and retreats. Maybe she had a partner, but she didn’t seem interested in children and seemed to know very little about interacting with them. She had greeted Spencer with an enthusiastic, ‘Hey, buddy!’, and the child had tried not to cringe at the overcompensation. Within fourteen minutes of speaking with her, he had already insulted her twice, known only because of her micro-expressions, which were rather hard to catch. Her only tell was the very, <em> very </em>subtle twitch of her index finger.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I’m a psychologist, Spencer. Not a therapist. Besides, Agent Rossi only asked me to keep an eye on you for the morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’d imagine— Uno— that you’d have a lot of work to do. Even if you are one of many psychologists, you work for the government. The FBI. Are you not neglecting pounds of paperwork?”</p><p> </p><p>“People are simpler to analyze than people think. My job is to make sure agents who have gone through traumatic experiences feel safe and secure enough to return to the very environment that put them in that situation.”</p><p> </p><p>Spencer frowned as she placed down a yellow card. He plucked from the deck and grumbled at the green six that would not help him. Dr. Martens placed down another card, and Spencer was quick to place one down as well. They both declared ‘Uno’, but Dr. Martens reached to pluck from the deck, her hand pausing as she did.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you want to be when you grow up?”</p><p> </p><p>“When I’m out of college, you mean?” Spencer brushed his hair back, “I have aspirations of becoming a professor, just like my mother, but recently I have been looking into a career here.”</p><p> </p><p>“In Quantico?” She finally pulled back.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” Spencer placed his final card down, then crossed his legs as Dr. Martens shuffled the deck. “You say you’re bad at chess?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just terrible.” She said with a smile.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you think I could teach you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I haven’t a board. Shall we go find one?” Dr. Martens stood and held out her hand.</p><p> </p><p>Although he didn’t really want to, he reached out and grabbed her hand anyway. The two of them left her office and made their way down the hall. Spencer didn’t like this. When Agent Rossi had awoken him that morning, he had given Spencer an awkwardly large sweater and the pants he’d been found in. Upon arrival, Agent Hotchner said something about clothes shopping and something else about hand-me-downs. Apparently, Agent Hotchner had a son, who was maybe close to Spencer’s age, or older— he was hardly listening. Agent Rossi had led him a few doors down from the glass ones to ask Dr. Martens, who was just arriving, to keep an eye on Spencer while he had a meeting with Strauss. Spencer suspected Agent Rossi took advantage of the younger woman’s crush on him. Spencer had seen her bookshelf was filled with a lot of Rossi’s work.</p><p> </p><p>“Kid?” Agent Morgan spoke up.</p><p> </p><p>Spencer looked towards him. He was standing by the printer, files in hand. When the child said nothing, Dr. Martens spoke for him.</p><p> </p><p>“Agent Morgan, hello! Spencer and I are on the hunt for a chessboard. Do you know anyone who might have one?”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmmm, have you tried Hotch?” Morgan shrugged, “I’m sure Gideon left one behind.”</p><p> </p><p>Morgan waved to Spencer, who waved back, but still, he said nothing. Dr. Martens led him to Hotchner’s office. She wasn’t reluctant about her knock like Spencer expected her to be. Then again, perhaps she knew things about Agent Hotchner that no one else did. They were invited in, and Dr. Martens entered, pulling Spencer along.</p><p> </p><p>“Agent Hotchner.” She smiled through her greeting, “Spencer and I were wondering if you had a chess set we could use.”</p><p> </p><p>Agent Hotchner paused for a moment. He turned to the desk behind the main one he used and moved a few files. He presented them with an old, beige, and brown board. Just as Spencer was about to comment, he handed the child a Ziploc back of the pieces.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure you’ll take good care of it? It’s special to me.”</p><p> </p><p>“Special enough to be mixed with your clutter?” Spencer asked, looking up at the agent.</p><p> </p><p>Hotch blinked, “Not everyone can be as neat as Dr. Martens. Or even as David Rossi.”</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Martens laughed, and Spencer just glanced between the two of them. There came another knock on Hotchner’s already-open door, and all three pairs of eyes turned to the frame. Rossi stood there, and he looked at Spencer. He approached the child, and Dr. Martins took a timid step back when Rossi took Spencer’s hand. He snatched away almost instantly, and the adults decided not to mention the reaction.</p><p> </p><p>“Spencer? I need you to meet my boss, Erin Strauss. Will you come with me?”</p><p> </p><p>Dr. Martens promised she’d allowed Spencer to teach her, and he handed her the bag and went along with his godfather. When they got to Strauss’s office, Spencer swore he felt the air around him go cold. She looked like a mean woman, but there was a certain softness to her face that Spencer recognized. She was a mother. Or at least some sort of caregiver. Spencer sat in the chair across from her’s after neglecting to shake her hand.</p><p> </p><p>“You must be Spencer.”</p><p> </p><p>“You must be Erin Strauss.”</p><p> </p><p>“I am.” She nodded, “Agent Rossi tells me you are his godson.”</p><p> </p><p>“It would appear so.” Spencer sighed, “I recognize him from some photos from my mother’s album.”</p><p> </p><p>“I heard about your mother. I’m very sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>Spencer looked down, “It’s okay. It’s nothing you did.”</p><p> </p><p>“Spencer, is it alright if I ask you questions about your mother?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p> </p><p>“The report says that you were held captive for two days. Before Professor Brown killed your mother. He killed her in front of you.”</p><p> </p><p>“He did.” Spencer looked at his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“Her funeral is in two days. We paid the expenses.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you.” His voice broke.</p><p> </p><p>“Spencer, do you know what emotional shock is?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes ma’am. I understand that my body is stuck in this panic mode. I’m not sure when reality will hit. I cried a bit, back in Vegas when Agent Rossi hugged me. But I cried because I was scared. Not because I saw my mother die.”</p><p> </p><p>“Some of those bruises look older than when you claim to have gotten them.”</p><p> </p><p>Spencer swore he felt Rossi tense. He didn’t like talking about or being made aware of his appearance. He liked when Dr. Martin did not flinch or take note of them. She didn’t even ask him about them. Spencer knew she cared, she wouldn’t have tried to compensate if she didn’t care, but he did wish Erin Strauss didn’t have to ask.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m clumsy.”</p><p> </p><p>“Some of your neighbors said your mom had some psychological issues. They say your father left because your mother was hitting you.”</p><p> </p><p>“William left on his own terms. He didn’t want to take care of us anymore.”</p><p> </p><p>Strauss frowned, “Are you angry with him, Spencer?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t we talking about my mother?”</p><p> </p><p>“We can talk about anything.” Strauss shrugged, “Do you like Agent Rossi’s house?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s big. I heard a dog barking last night but I didn’t see it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you like it?”</p><p> </p><p>Spencer looked at her, “Yes. He lets me eat ravioli. It’s my favorite, y’know.”</p><p> </p><p>“How come?” Strauss asked, trying to make her voice sweet.</p><p> </p><p>“No one can do anything to it.” Spencer shrugged casually, “Professor Brown made my mother eat maggots. I think it was because he hated her more than all the others. He made her dinner, and she had to eat it. Even with the maggots. She ate it so I didn’t have to. When I eat the ravioli, I don’t have to worry about cutting into it and having those nasty crawlers spilling out.”</p><p> </p><p>“Spencer,” Strauss began, “You do know that no one here will put anything in your food, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s what my mother and I ate. The canned ravioli. Her favorite was from the 99 cent store. It was affordable too, especially since I had to beg for money.”</p><p> </p><p>“How did you afford college?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve got a scholarship. It doesn’t cover board because I commute, but usually, I was able to beg for enough money for bus fare. If not, Lou Jenkins would drive me. Sometimes he let me use their shower when our water was off.”</p><p> </p><p>Strauss’s eyes flickered to Rossi, “Lou Jenkins?”</p><p> </p><p>“Our neighbor. He let me use the shower. But only if—”</p><p> </p><p>When Spencer stopped, both Rossi and Strauss noticed. Rossi felt the floor beneath him give way, and he prayed his godson had not stopped for any reason. Sometimes Spencer didn’t feel like talking anymore, so he just stopped. That’s what he came to find. He had done it in the car that morning when answering Rossi’s question about his major. </p><p> </p><p>“Only if?” Strauss pressed.</p><p> </p><p>Spencer crossed his legs as if to stop his shaking leg, and placed both hands on his knee so his whole body now appeared to be vibrating. He shook his head and turned his eyes towards the closed blinds that would usually show a view of the bullpen.</p><p> </p><p>“Spencer, I really need you to tell us.” Strauss placed her hand on the desk.</p><p> </p><p>Spencer’s hair whipped as he looked at her, and did once more as he turned away with the same animosity he had when first looking. When she saw she could get nowhere, Rossi led Spencer from her office and towards his, but he stopped and stood at the landing. Rossi turned to look at him, then watched as Spencer walked down the stairs and up to Agent Morgan. Morgan looked from Rossi to him. Spencer just stood near him, not saying anything, but his fingertips were tapping against the thin frame of his chest in an almost panicked manner.</p><p> </p><p>“Spencer?”</p><p> </p><p>Spencer pointed to the fuzzy round ball on his desk, no doubt placed there by Garcia. Morgan awkwardly handed it to him, and Spencer took it, then plopped down right by Morgan’s desk, with his back against the drawers. Morgan blinked at him, then gave Rossi an incredulous look, though not one of judgment, just one to ask if Spencer was alright. Morgan placed a hand on Spencer’s head and was surprised when the child whined and pulled away from his hand as if it were on fire.</p><p> </p><p> “You alright, Spencer?”</p><p> </p><p>Spencer nodded, then placed his finger to his lips as if telling Morgan to be quiet. Morgan stared for a moment, then nodded in what seemed to be understanding. Rossi kept on staring, and Morgan shooed him along as if to say things would be fine. Rossi walked to Hotch’s office, where his superior was telling Dr. Martin all he knew about chess, which was admittedly very little, but she had declared anything helped. Upon seeing Rossi, Dr. Martins promised she’d keep the set safe before she left, but only after bidding goodbye to Rossi.</p><p> </p><p>“She’s sweet,” Rossi sighed.</p><p> </p><p>“She’s one hell of a profile, I’ll tell you that. She reads people like their open bo— What’s the matter, David?”</p><p> </p><p>“You remember that phase Jack had? Where he didn’t talk at all?”</p><p> </p><p>“Is this about Spencer?”</p><p> </p><p>“He was telling Strauss and me about showering at Lou Jenkins’ house.” Rossi hissed, “He said he’d allow him to shower, but only if he did something.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s this something?” Hotchner’s voice was like venom.</p><p> </p><p>“He didn’t say, but I have a feeling I already know,” Rossi leaned back, “I need a drink. I don’t want to think about how that bastard took advantage of Spencer’s situation.”</p><p> </p><p>“Have you thought about the DNA test? Or filing those adoption papers?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s been a day, Aaron.”</p><p> </p><p>“You can’t tell me you aren’t keeping him?” Hotch frowned, “Not after you’ve introduced him to this life. Dave, you can’t be considering sending him into foster care?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m no good as a father, Aaron.” Rossi whispered as if someone else might hear, “He hates me.”</p><p> </p><p>“He doesn’t <em>hate </em>you. Like I said before, this is a lot for him. He’s in a new environment.” Aaron paused, “And he’s stuck in emotional shock. It might hit him really hard, and avoiding that may be overstimulating on his psyche.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s sitting on the floor by Morgan’s desk, holding Garcia’s stress ball.”</p><p> </p><p>“Morgan’s one of the only ones who didn’t talk to him in Vegas. Maybe he finds comfort in people who don’t want to pull answers out of him.”</p><p> </p><p>Rossi and Hotch both went to the window. They looked through the blinds at Spencer, who now seemed occupied by a book from Morgan’s desk. Hotch squinted.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that he’s reading?”</p><p> </p><p>“Kurt Vonnegut,” Rossi rolled his eyes, “It’s the only guy Morgan reads for fun. Sometimes, Garcia, has him read different books, but if it’s a book from Morgan’s desk, it’s Vonnegut.”</p><p> </p><p>Hotch gave him a look.</p><p> </p><p>“What?” Rossi laughed, “I’ve got all the team’s favorite authors.”</p><p> </p><p>“You do?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course! Should I finally tell the team why there are so many works by Mary Shelley on my shelves?” Rossi’s tone was teasing.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s a <em> line, </em>David,” Hotch remarked with the beginnings of a smile.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw// spencer talks about being assaulted by lou jenkins</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Derek Morgan knew very little of children, but he knew how to read people. Especially people who had gone through what he had. Towards lunch, Morgan sat down in front of Spencer, and the child’s eyes flickered up from the book he had already read three times.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You hungry, kid?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“For ravioli?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Morgan shrugged, “I live in DC. I’m sure Hotch would let us go make ravioli if we asked.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer paused. He set the book down, then allowed Morgan to take his hand and walk him to Hotch’s office. After the first knock, Hotch instructed them to come in. Rossi was in there, and he stood upon seeing Spencer, who tried to look tall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Agent Hotchner? Can Agent Morgan take me to make ravioli?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hotch lifted his brows, “You don’t want your godfather to take you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No.” Spencer squeezed Morgan’s hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer did not even look at Rossi. Hotch just nodded, and Morgan sent Rossi an apologetic look before he led Spencer away. Getting the child into his truck was awkward, considering he was too small to even crawl into the truck. Morgan had to help him into the passenger seat, and he made sure the seatbelt was tight before he walked around the car and hopped into himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why have a car no one can fit in?” Spencer asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>like the color,” Morgan defended playfully. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There are plenty of cars you can get painted red. Well, candy apple red.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Candy apple?” Morgan repeated as he started up the car, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Man</span>
  </em>
  <span>. At least it looks nice.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Morgan pulled out of his parking spot. Spencer, he noticed, got quiet sometimes. Really quiet, in a way you might not notice if you didn’t spend time with him. Morgan lived in an apartment complex with a gate that required an ID card to enter. Rossi’s house was nice, but Spencer liked the modest seclusion of Morgan’s place more. Suddenly, he gripped the seat and frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The ravioli!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, kid. Garcia made us stack up on the stuff as soon as she learned you like it. You better be lucky she was super busy, by the time we get back, she’ll probably have twelve years worth of Christmas waiting for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer hit his fist against his leg, “I can’t eat it if I don’t see it in the store.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Morgan paused as Spencer began tapping his fingertips to his chest again. He frowned, then took the stress ball from his pocket. It was crushed, but he handed it to Spencer, who let it reflate before he squeezed it again. Morgan pulled out of the gates without question, before he headed towards the grocery store. He knew both Rossi and Garcia would kill him if he brought Spencer back hungry and upset. Maybe Hotch would too. Spencer slipped out of the car once Morgan was parked, and he grabbed the agent’s hand after meeting him at the back of the car.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They found the canned food section and Spencer picked up a can before Morgan picked up about seven more. He planned to give away the ones already in his cabinet since Spencer wouldn’t eat them. Spencer stood close to him in line and ignored the awkward look they got from the woman at the cash register. They got to the car, thankfully with no weird encounter, and Spencer smiled at the beep of the ID scanner once they reached Morgan’s apartment. The interior was even nicer. The elevator was like a cage, Spencer could tell it was for the aesthetic of the building, but he liked it. Morgan’s apartment was a breath of fresh air from all the ivory and gold that was Rossi’s place. For a beat, he wished he lived with Morgan instead, but Morgan seemed like the sort to go on runs at 5 am; and he might feel weird about leaving Spencer alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer made the ravioli while Morgan hovered over him. “We could have made this in the microwave.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not the same.” Spencer glared at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Morgan provided two dark blue bowls, and he and Spencer sat at the ivory island and enjoyed their meal. The way Spencer seemed to eat as if someone might take it away, with one arm wrapped around the bowl and his upper body nearly covering it, made Derek think about what the kid’s life must have been like. He had learned from Hotch and Prentiss that Spencer’s mother was mentally ill, but he didn’t know the extent of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As long as I let him touch me,” Spencer spoke as if finishing a sentence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Morgan tried not to choke as he looked up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lou Jenkins.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He touched you?” Morgan asked, pushing his food aside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer nodded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t bother bringing out a teddy bear, I’m a kid, but I’m not stupid. Everywhere. He touched me. How else am I supposed to put it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Morgan gulped, “We need to tell Hotch and Rossi.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know. I didn’t want to say it on an empty stomach. Can I use your b—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Spencer gagged, Morgan was quick to get the wastebasket in the living room for him to throw up in. Spencer tossed his entire bowl of ravioli, and Morgan touched his shoulder as if to experiment if it was alright, before he relaxed and rubbed circles in Spencer’s back. The child fell asleep on his couch after rinsing his mouth out, and Morgan called Rossi and Hotch. It usually took 45 minutes on I-95,  but somehow the two of them got there in 32. Rossi approached Morgan’s couch, and he looked over his sleeping godson. Morgan gave Hotch a glass of water. His superior looked pale and somewhat frazzled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You alright, Hotch?” Morgan laughed, despite the situation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> were a crazy driver,” Hotch hissed, before taking a sip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer opened his eyes after a few more minutes and looked at Rossi, who stared at him. The child sat up and wrapped his arms around his godfather, who hugged him back lightly as if giving Spencer room to move away if he wanted to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Spencer, I hope you know that none of us are angry with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really, kid.” Rossi leaned back, and Spencer did as well, “I’m glad you told us. We need to put men like him away.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” Spencer laid down again, “Do you think I’ll have to talk in court?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Having your statement would certainly help,” Hotch said as he approached the couch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Spencer frowned and sat up suddenly. He moved from the couch to the kitchen, so the landing between the living room and kitchen divided them. It wasn’t that Spencer didn’t trust Hotch, his mind just often decided some areas were too small, and he needed space to move about, or even away from others. Rossi and Hotch shared a look, and Morgan gave a small sigh, and the apartment was otherwise quiet. </span>
</p><p> </p>
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